To Sketch a Memory
by astrum202
Summary: As Emma Woodhouse ponders her new found feelings for Mr. Knightley she discovers the imperfect drawing of him that sparks memories of time they spent together as she was growing up. But will these memories shed any light on her chaotic feelings?
1. A Child's Notion

It was rare that Emma Woodhouse was ever dissatisfied with herself and even more seldom did she let feelings of dissatisfaction trouble her for long. But sifting through her drawings that day, thinking of Mr. Knightley and all that he had scolded her for, she felt very, very dissatisfied. Perhaps he had been right in those times he had chided her, but that was not what was so bothering to her. No it was more what he must be thinking of her now, now that she had meddled so incessantly and had no doubt invoked his ill opinion. What irked her even more was to think of why that should trouble her so.

The sun was setting and the rays of light were sifting through the trees to fall like fading memories on the sitting room floor. She Emma had always liked the feeling that sunset gave her, when she was at peace and felt truly content. She had often sat here with Mr. Knightley, and even when he was not there she would smile at the thoughts of the conversations they had shared together. She sighed, trying to ignore the bittersweet pangs in her chest when she brought up such memories now. What was Mr. Knightley to her, now that he could excite such painful feelings in her without even saying a word?

She looked down, realizing that she was holding her one portrait of Mr. Knightley. Her lips curled into an expression of frustration. She rarely looked at the picture as it was by far the worst representation of a person she had ever created, despite what compliments others gave it for the sake of politeness. Emma had always hated false airs, especially ones that were put on for politeness. Oh it was easy to recognize the person in the sketch, but she had long ago realized that she had failed in capturing the exact personality of the man in her drawing. He was too distant.

She put a hand to her lip ponderingly. Perhaps that was what was wrong with the drawing. She could not capture Mr. Knightley's likeness because she did not truly recognize her own feelings for him. What was he to her?

She looked out the window watching the rays of sunlight fade slowly behind the large oaktree that stood proudly on the edge of the garden…

…and she was thirteen again. She sat in one of the tree's low branches swinging her feet nonchalantly while she watched Isabelle and John playing croquet together with and interested eye. She laughed every time she noticed her sister beat him and smiled knowingly every time John paid her a compliment, which was quite often.

"And what is it, Miss Emma, that enthralls your interest so much?" A young man was standing next to her. Even when she sat in the tree branch his head reached an inch or two above hers. His dark eyes looked at her with amusement and friendliness and his discreet smile made hers brighten all the more.

"Oh just Isabelle and John. I wonder if your brother realizes how obvious he makes it that he fancies her? I wonder how long it will be until they marry and I become an aunt?" She frowned briefly. "And why do you call me 'Miss Emma'? You know no one cares if you call me by my Christian name. And I've known you my whole life so I really don't care either." Mr. Knightley frowned looking at his brother and Emma's sister.

"Do not let your fancy take hold of you mouth so often. Both John and Isabelle are still very young and their affections may prove to be fickle and subject to change when they see more of the world. As for calling you 'Miss' you are becoming old enough to be called that." Emma was taken aback by the stern tone of her friend. She could tell he was scolding her, however discreetly and as a child she could not think of a suitable reply. Her smile lit up again though when she saw the smug look on Mr. Knightley's face as he looked at the two young adolescents.

"You would like to see them together though, wouldn't you?" she said allowing her own smile to return.

"We shall see where the whirligig of time takes them." They sat for awhile in the summer sun, Emma enjoying the freedom of her childhood, a sweetness that was slowly fading away as she was reminded daily. Just a week ago she had woken up with blood running down the side of leg and had learned the larger meaning that was tied with the first of a girl's monthly showing. She thought of how Mr. Knightley had called her 'Miss' coupled with that stern tone that was, even in jest, cold an unfamiliar and worried that it would mean she would soon lose her friendship with this man that had been her older brother for her entire life.

"Mr. Knightley," she said quietly, "if you keep on calling me 'Miss' then will that mean I will not be allowed to talk to you so openly anymore. Is it 'proper' as they say for us to continue being good friends?" Mr. Knightley turned to face her frowning.

"If you truly do not wish it I will cease to call you Miss and you shall continue to be Emma to me. As for us being friends, I assure you there is absolutely nothing improper about it. And even if there was I would gladly brave the disapproval of every gossiping old spinster in England to continue it." She could not help but grin and he smiled warmly at her taking her hand. "You and I will always be friends Emma, that I will gladly promise."

The two stayed like that for a while and suddenly the idea of maturing did not seem so wholly frightening to Emma. At least she would have her best friend there to guide her through any troubles she might have and still be able to laugh with her.

"But really," she finally said mischievously, "how long will it be before the wedding bells start ringing." It was the only scowl she had ever received that was followed by such friendly laughter…

So Mr. Knightley was her friend, her brother. Emma stared at the drawing, attempting to force the impression onto the drawing. But even with such a pleasant memory to enforce it the idea would not enter those imperfect lines. It was frustrating, and with the memory alive in her heart, Emma once again felt those bittersweet pangs that had been haunting her ever since…ever since when?

She shook her head as she silently left the room, gripping the sketch tightly in her hand as she did so.

A/N: So I'm back, did ya miss me? *gets faint cricket chirp in response* Well anyway, here's what you no doubt really came for, some amateur attempt at using Miss Austen's characters in a plot that she would no doubt highly disapprove of due to its lack of quality. Oh and good news for you all. I'm not working on a separate fanfiction this time so my chances of updating sooner are much higher than they were for my last two exploits. However just so you know I have a performance in about two weeks and I'm still a high schooler, just so we're clear.

No about the actual story. I wanted to create that turbulence that Emma feels when she first experiences love for Mr. Knightley. I feel as though their friendship is really unique as none of Austen's other heroines were originally so close to their heroes. (I mean Emma knew Mr. K since birth) so yeah some fun sketches of their relationship over the years. Emma will be sixteen in the next one. Well hope you're enjoying it so far. *sigh* there need to be more Emma fanfics.


	2. A Learning Cupid

Emma strolled through the house in a kind of trance, lost in her own thoughts. The house looked beautiful at this time of day, with the light pouring through the windows and the rays of sun falling gently on the furniture. In a way it was like stepping into a memory. It was at times like these she remembered all of the memories that had taken place here, both the good and the bad.

She stopped in the foyer, placing her hand gently on the railing of the stairs. A lot had transpired over the years in this room, and more than half the time Mr. Knightley had been right there with her. She smiled a little, until a bitter memory surfaced and…

…she was sixteen. Mr. Knightley was putting on his hat, heaving a frustrated sigh as he did so. Emma entered the room, looking on her old friend with a look of displeasure on her faced that she rarely ever used in the company of her close friend.

"That was hardly civil the way you got up and left like that" she said in an impatient tone. Mr. Knightley stopped for a moment and glared at her.

"I'm afraid I have no time to be civil to you today Ms. Woodhouse. I must go to London immediately and…"

"And what?" demanded Emma, cocking an eyebrow in anger.

"To make sure that Ms. Carlton does not make an utter fool of herself practically throwing herself at Mr. Jacobs!" Emma gritted her teeth angrily.

"Why do you oppose my encouragement of her so much? What would be wrong with a match between the two of them? Is it because they are moderately far apart in age? Really twelve years is not that big of a gap. Or is it because of their different backgrounds…"

Mr. Knightley through up his arms in exasperation. "For God's sake Emma the man is engaged to a different woman!"

Emma grimaced briefly but her dark eyes remained locked on Mr. Knightley. "He is engaged to an older and far more disagreeable woman that Ms. Carlton. You and I have both seen the two of them together and we both know Mr. Jacobs would be entering into a completely unhappy marriage." Mr. Knightley put a hand to his forehead, trying to calm himself.

"Even so encouraging the girl was completely improper. Telling her to follow her to London…Emma do you see that you are only setting the poor girl up for social ruin? And you think you're doing her a favor." Mr. Knightley shook his head and went to the door. "Honestly Emma, there are times I cannot even bear to think what wild ideas circulate through your head." He left and for three months the two had hardly spoken to each other.

Eventually Mr. Jacobs had broken off his engagement, but he had never married Ms. Carlton. She had found another gentleman in London. When Mr. Knightley returned and had refused to speak to her, Emma had believed that it was because his pride was hurt at being wrong that he had avoided her. Now she realized that the real reason was because he had been so disgusted with her conduct…

So maybe that was what Mr. Knightley was to her, a teacher of sorts who scolded her whenever she behaved improperly. Emma smiled a little at the image, but soon the smile vanished with the realization that her sketch did not completely fit its figure.

A/N: Ah…sorry I'm being vague. I finally had the motivation to work on this chapter as I have not had the motivation to tear myself away from my own plot for awhile. So thus this is the product of 45 minutes of Austen motivation that eventually died at 11:00pm. Yeah, that's why the ending is kind of crappy. Oh and if you're wondering about the random OC's, it's just this imaginary story I made up about one of Emma's other attempts at matchmaking between some acquaintances of theirs, one of which had been pressured into a really disagreeable engagement (because Ms. Austen seems to like those). So yeah, short bad chapter over, romantic, probably final, chapter coming up next!!!!

Oh yeah, my play's this week and we have been rehearsing like hell to get it ready, so that's why I've not been able to put some time away to work on this.

The omnipotent Austen owns ALL!


	3. Arms Like a Blanket

The library appeared rather gloomy even with the candle she had brought. A faint drizzle was sopping out of the grey clouds and the room seemed colder than usual. Emma scanned the books on the shelves, candle in one hand, folded sketch in the other, searching for something to distract her. The room had served as a pleasant escape for her on countless other occasions, why was it failing her now?

She set the candle down on a small table, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, more out of frustration than a lack of warmth. She could not understand why Mr. Knightley had suddenly become so evasive. She had always liked to believe that she knew him, even when he proved her wrong. She had liked to believe he could never surprise her and now he had confused her extremely thoroughly and she did not even know how.

She sighed hugging her shoulders. It seemed as though just that faint touch triggered a memory and…

…she was nineteen. It was winter, mid January and outside the snow fell gently into heavy drifts. It was late; she was tired and afraid, tears fighting to break loose at any minute. She had to bite her finger to keep them from breaking forth. Mr. Perry entered the library and it was all she could do to keep her composure.

"It is a rather bad cough, no doubt a serious case of pneumonia. However I do think as long as you give him proper rest and make sure he takes the proper medicines he will be able to overcome this." Emma turned away from the apothecary, sensing all too acutely the worry in his voice.

"Mr. Perry I want you to be perfectly honest with me…what are the chances that my father will…" she did not have the strength to even finish that thought.

He sighed heavily. "About one in three. He is surprisingly strong for a man his age especially one that complains so much but nevertheless he is old." He tried to smile but seeing Ms. Woodhouse's worried expression he took his cue to leave. When he got to the door he turned to look back. "Chin up miss, your father has a fighting chance."

When he was gone Emma started crying. She knew that her father's health had always been poor, that every winter it was possible, but she knew she was not ready to lose him yet. She was not ready to be independent, to be an orphan. She had never felt this insecure at any time in her life. She had not felt the loss of her mother as her sister had, indeed she had very little recollection of it at all. She just remembered a pain she did not think she could ever bear to feel again.

"I have a letter from John, he will be here tomorrow. Unfortunately your sister is in no condition to travel, being that she expects the child within a fortnight. Ms. Taylor is still with her brother then?"

Emma nodded, wishing that the voice would go and leave her. She did not have the strength or the shame to let her friend see her like this.

"I am sorry Emma you do not have anyone to comfort you here. If you would like I could stay here, at least until John comes." Emma's chest wrenched at the thought of having her friend stay here to see her weep. How shameful that would be when he had suffered so much, lost both his parents, and had felt each loss so acutely.

"I am afraid I must decline Mr. Knightley," she said working up the nerve to turn and face him, "I will do perfectly well managing on my own." He looked at her with deep concern, fearing for her health, knowing she had let it slip because of her father. She tried to smile a little, to reassure him. "God knows you have endured far more than I. I regard you as my equal and if fate wills that I must bear the same burdens you have, I have at least learned from you how I may bear them."

Mr. Knightley stood awed with his friend, noticing that soft pang that was re-awakening in his chest. "Emma, you do not need to bear your burdens alone." In a moment he had crossed to her and, barely thinking took her in his arms. "I have no intention of letting someone I love suffer in solitude."

Emma wanted to pull away, but her friend's embrace was so comforting. Instead of doing what propriety would have dictated she found herself crying on his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered softly. She felt like a child, but in that instance she did not really care…

Emma felt tears coming to her eyes as she thought about that day. Her father had pulled through of course, but Mr. Knightley had been the one who stood by her through the uncertainties. He had been the only one who could…no. He had been the only one she had let support her. He was the one person who she could never push away, who she could always talk to. He was the person who completed her.

She looked at her sketch, able to see it in a new light now. "There is no denying it," she said, smiling bitterly as the tears came faster. She folded the drawing and left the room, intent on letting the rain sing her to sleep.

A/N: So yes, my last chapter. You all have no idea how fun writing this story was. Sorry I have been rather slow updating, especially since the chapters keep coming out so short. My play went beautifully however I'm on my school's speech team and have been preparing for regionals and whatnot. I broke to nationals however so I am undergoing much joy. Anyway I sincerely hope you all enjoyed my Emma drabble. Though not recognized as a favorite it's hero and heroine have some of the best chemistry and dynamics so I thought I'd explore that more. Thank you for your lovely reviews and support.

I do have an idea for my next fanfiction, however I am breaking out of Jane Austen for a bit to do an Avatar fanfiction (Toko for any avatar fans) however I will later return with a Sense and Sensibility fanfiction. It will be entitled "A Friend's Permission," so if you thought my writing was any good, keep your eyes open. Once again thank you for the support. Oh also I've just started up as a Beta reader and am taking request. If you have any friends that need a Beta reader, I'd really like to start reading some stories. Thanks, and Ms. Austen owns the characters!


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